


need me 'til i need no more

by elfloversanonymous (anotherdirtycomputer)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Isabela (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, F/M, Fenris (Dragon Age) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Fenris Has Issues, Fluff, Pro-mage Hawke, Soft Femdom, Sub Fenris (Dragon Age), Sweet Isabela (Dragon Age), im making it a thing, is fluffy bdsm a thing in fandom, soft dom isabela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdirtycomputer/pseuds/elfloversanonymous
Summary: Fenris comes to Isabela in hopes of redeeming himself. She has something else in mind.





	need me 'til i need no more

**Author's Note:**

> no smut this time, sorry folks! but have some fluff. typical warning for fenris' past abuse and apology for any formatting issues

Nobody stops Fenris when he storms into the Hanged Man, doors slamming open and creaking closed behind him. Nobody calls out to him when his long legs stomp up the stairs to Isabela’s room. If there are eyes upon him, he cannot feel them; he feels only his own quaking shoulders and shaking fists.

He wants to blame it on the lyrium in his skin. That’s what shakes him - not his own fragile mind or overflowing rage and fear, just the vibrating stone stuck in his flesh.

It’s so much easier to blame something else.

He can blame the blood mages, he thinks as he paces Isabela’s empty room. The mages from Starkhaven, fleeing the Circle, who used their putrid power against him in battle until he fell defending Hawke. And yet Hawke let them go. Hawke _protected_ them, with Varric’s help, so they could run and be “free”. All while Fenris just sat by and watched.

He should be storming to the Templars, pointing the Knights towards the fleeing enemy. He should betray Hawke as Hawke has surely betrayed him. Instead, his feet worry the creaking wood of the floor as he paces and paces and paces.

Finally, Isabela enters, and before she can ask him, he nearly shouts, “Take me under. Now.”

Isabela blinks in surprise. “Under what?”

“Do not play coy with me.” He swallows around a sudden thickness of his throat. “ _P_ _lease._ I need you to hurt me. The whip or cane or- _the crop._ I want the crop. Now.”

There’s no response for a moment beyond Isabela’s bewildered expression. She hides her emotions well, allowing her shock to mask what else she may feel towards him. It’s rare for him to come to her for this, he knows, but he needs her. Isn’t that enough?

“Normally we talk first.” She says lightly.

He sighs in frustration. “Just… don’t draw blood. My word is _malus_.”

Another moment of silence as she surveys him. Her eyes linger on the blood still stuck to his armor. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now, handsome.” It isn’t a no. She’s thinking - he can see it in the way her eyes go hard and focused.

“There was a difficult fight.” It isn’t a lie - unlike the next thing he says. “My pride is hurt more than anything else.”

“...Varric says you were wounded. You had to be revived after the battle was won.”

“But I _was_ revived. I am healed and I want you.”

She almost rolls her eyes. “Our hairy friend _also_ says you were fighting blood mages.”

“Yes.” He is losing his patience - but more than that, he is embarrassed. He is ashamed of his fear and his shaking and his need. “Isabela, deny me or do not. Just… Tell me your answer.”

“My _answer_ depends on you and whether or not you’re in a safe place to be _whipped_ or _caned_ or _beaten with a riding crop._ ”

“I am fine!” His voice breaks halfway through his yell. “Please, just _hurt_ me.”

Why is she hesitating? On any other day, he only needs to ask once for a nice smack to the bum. Sometimes, she’ll give him one just for fun. In his mind, this hesitation speaks of so much more. He imagines the hidden truths she’s kept from him, secretive as she ever is, only this time, she keeps them not to protect herself, but to protect him. To protect his heart from breaking.

Is she as ashamed as he is of his weakness? Is this amusing to her - or worse, repulsive to her?

He clenches his jaw hard, his still gauntlet-covered hands curling into tight fists by his side. Tears threaten his eyes and a sob grabs hold of his airway, but he refuses to cry.

“Fenris…” Rarely does she sound so solemn and serious. “What do you need?”

“Pain.”

“Why?”

He takes a moment to consider. Talking about this is important. Despite his current struggle with this fact, he knows it to be true. Discussing the terms, agreeing upon them together, is what keeps this a safe act. It’s what keeps him free.

Isabela waits patiently.

“I need... The blood mages today, Cap- ‘Bela. This anger in me-”

“No.” His wide eyes find hers in shock. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Fenris. I’ll never make you do that. I want to know what you’re looking to gain from being hurt.”

Now he’s even more confused. Is she not the one that suggested this all in the first place, so long ago? She knows it far better than he does. “I want to escape this feeling. Just for a while.”

When she nods, thoughtful, her earrings catch the light. “Fenris, can you trust me to do that for you?”

“I have before.” His ears twitch, head turning to the side. He must be wearing an ugly glare. “And I have come to you tonight. Is that not proof enough of my trust?”

She doesn’t rise to the bait. “Alright. You want my hand or a paddle or-?”

“The crop.” He stands, hoping to fetch it. Just to feel useful for a moment. “The riding crop, tonight.”

He moves to rummage through her things, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He nearly flinches at the sudden touch. “Wait, Fenris. We aren’t done talking. Do you want it here or at the mansion?”

The thought of the place makes him shiver. The walls there feel haunted. He can no longer tell if the bloodstains on the floor are from intruders or from long-dead slaves. “Here. I’ll be quiet.”

“Alright. Take off your armor and clothes and lie on the bed. Then, close your eyes.”

His head snaps towards her, away from the gauntlets he’d already begun to take off. “Close my eyes?”

“Yes. If you don’t want to, let me know.”

He thinks for a moments, weighing the word on his tongue, but ultimately shake his head. “I will obey.” He _does_ trust her, despite it all. When she takes her hand off his shoulder, he misses her touch.

“Good man.” The words make him relax for the first time in over a day. Just two simple words. “Want me to dress up?”

His face grows hot. The simple dark breeches she wears when he submits to her are his favorite to see her in, and not only because she rarely deigns to wear trousers (or even a skirt) of any kind.

She smiles at him knowingly.

“...Yes, Captain. If you want to.”

Isabela strides away from him towards the door. It locks with two simple clicks. “I’ll get ready when you’re on the bed.”

Which means he won’t be able to see her in the trousers, he laments. At least not at first. But there’s no point in dwelling on it; she’s given an order and he _will_ follow it. Once his armor and underclothes are tucked out of the way, he lays on his back atop her blankets.

“Nope,” she says. “On your front.”

Of course. He fights back a wave of embarrassment. It’s testament to how shaken he is tonight that he’d get it wrong. How was she meant to take the crop to his rear when he faced it away from her? He berates himself, shame filling him, but she quickly puts a stop to it.

It’s placed gently against him, not even a warning pop, but he startles under the sudden touch of the riding crop. She’s chosen to begin beneath his rear, breathing the tip against his left thigh. Right where the mage’s staff had bled him for their foul magic. Right where he’d been taken down by that which he feared the most. Right where he’d been proven weak.

Did she know? There must be a scar there, providing in detail his shame before this woman he loves. Just another stain on his body that magic left behind.

“You’ve got a freckle here, did you know?” He blinks in shock. A… freckle? “Or a beauty mark, I suppose. Is there a difference?”

Such casual conversation isn’t rare in these moments, but it wasn’t what he expected tonight. Everything seems to be surprising him now, so stuck in his head as he is. He wishes she’d hurry and beat him senseless. The gentle trails she makes between his thighs are nice, he’ll admit, even somewhat successful in distracting him from his dark thoughts, but he needs more. He needs to prove his strength. He needs to be punished for his weakness.

Silence settles between them awkwardly, and only then does he remember her question. Is he… meant to answer? It sounded rhetorical, he thinks, but-

“How are you reading lessons going?”

Ah. No reply necessary, then. He relaxes, then tenses again as the crop trails over the hill of his ass and back down again. It’s an intimate touch, but her casual tone makes it feel far from sexual. He’s partially glad for it; feeling as he does tonight, he doesn’t want that kind of pleasure.

“They’re going well…?” He forces out, before he can forgot.

“Well?” She sounds amused, but there’s a hard edge to her voice; she’s in charge here and when he answers a question, she expects it answered correctly.

 _Discipline, Fenris_ , he scolds himself. He swallows hard before replying, “They’re going well, Captain.”

She hums, pleased. The riding crop travels up higher, over his back in tickling strokes. It barely touches his skin. “Good. Soon enough, we’ll be writing friend-fiction together. Aveline will hate the both of us.”

As soon as she says it, she tickles his underarm with the soft leather tip. He can’t help it - he snorts a laugh into the pillow, a barely-heard and barely-concealed giggle.

“You laugh now,” she continues, voice humorously grave. “But we both know I’m right.”

With that, she takes the riding crop higher, stroking his neck before drawing wide circles across his shoulders. He doesn’t have it in him to argue. He can only relax further under her skillful hand.

“There… Doesn’t that feel good?” The way she says it sounds like praise.

 _It does_ , he wants to tell her. It’s really rather comforting, so smooth against his sore flesh.

The room is warm, especially with her blankets underneath him and the smell of her pressed into the pillow. The circle motions of the crop against his skin are as intimate as her hand. She’s not even touching him and he feels like he’s being held, her fingers playing shapes against his muscles.

The fatigue of the day settles over him and finally, he allows it. It had been a tiring journey to and from the Wounded Coast, the hot sand grating under his feet and sticking to his lyrium markings through his armor. On the return, all of that had been added to the ache of freshly healed flesh and the constant sting of paranoia. The entire way, he’d felt on edge. Now, he feels… safe.

“I feel safe,” he tells her.

She rewards him with a caress to his cheek with the riding crop. It feels like a kiss.

The backdrop of the Hanged Man is a welcome one. Distantly, he hears their friends’ speech and laughter, the laments of drunken fools, the clinking and clanking of bowls and tankards. Added to the gentle whisper of the riding crop against his skin, there has never been a more comforting noise.

It is with the lingering feeling of safety that Fenris drifts off into sleep.

*

When he wakes to her smiling face, he is horrified.

“Isabela-” He chokes. “Captain.”

Isabela’s face droops. “You’ve seen me without makeup before, Fenris.”

“No,” he struggles to sit up, still aching as he is from the fight. “We were in a scene and I _fell asleep_ -”

“What’s the matter there?” Her dark curls bob playfully as she shrugs. “I figured you might.”

“You-” He swallows. It takes him a moment to process. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, Isabela falls back against the pillow with a sigh. She’s still wearing the leather trousers, he notices. “You wanted to escape the way you were feeling, so I made you feel _good_. You certainly deserved it after everything.”

Haltingly, he lays back down beside her.

“I figured you might fall asleep. You _fell in battle_ and didn’t even rest before coming to see me! Didn’t even _wash_ \- you come to me covered in dirt and blood and you ask me to beat you like a dog, just to silence your mind.” The hurt in her voice strikes him, making him swallow through sudden guilt. “I’m happy to help you, Fenris, but I’m not going to let you use me to harm yourself.”

He shifts uncomfortably. It’s suddenly far too cold to be sitting on the blankets instead of under them. “I… don’t think I understand.”

When Isabela lays a hand on his side, he takes it in his own. “If you want a punishment for _fun_ , we can talk about it, but… Well, I’m hardly one to talk to a man about vices, but I think we should stick to the watered down swill served downstairs. If you’re hurting, more hurt won’t do anything to stop it.”

Fenris isn’t sure he agrees, but, thinking about it, he’s glad Isabela didn’t beat him last night. It likely would have made him feel even worse - if things got too heavy, he may have even flashbacked to his time with Danarius. He shivers at the thought. He may have even gone to Isabela for a beating because of Danarius.

That realization is a cold one. He’d gone to her for punishment, not for a scene, and it makes him feel ill.

He doesn’t know what else to say. Instead, he rolls over to lay his head on her chest and simply says, “I enjoyed last night. I apologize if I appear ungrateful.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she laughs at him, though not unkindly. “There are ways to show such gratitude, if you’re interested.” She pauses before kissing his hair. “ _Only_ if you’re interested.”

He takes a moments to think about it. After everything, it seems Isabela was right - this right here is what he needs. “Could we… lie here a while longer?”

“Of course, handsome.”

Fenris takes note to do something thoughtful for Isabela later. For now, he sighs against her skin and focuses on the warmth of her body and the safety of her embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> i realize now that it isn't really addressed in the fic, but the reason isabela quiets fenris when he tries to tell her why he's feeling bad is because he's obviously out of it and she doesn't want him to tell her anything he'll regret later [dabs] it comes off a bit harsh in the fic, i think
> 
> but, hey! thanks for reading <3 if you liked, then comments and kudos are a writer's best friends!


End file.
